


getting my hands dirty for you

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bottom Charles, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Modern AU, Slash, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 15:39:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1863234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> He has to do the unthinkable, suffer the stupidity of it and just do it. Nothing can go any more wrong than it already is. He'd do anything for Erik, and if that means he has do what he’s about to do, then so be it.</i>
</p><p>Charles is pretty sure his proposal wasn't supposed to go this way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	getting my hands dirty for you

**Author's Note:**

> I know I said I'd upload this Charles/Erik fic in a couple of days, but screw it – thought I'd do it now. (First time writing them so they might not be all in character.)
> 
> Unbeta'd, again. Hope you like. ♥

It’s perfect.

The setting, with a three course meal, candles and rose petals scattered over the table — surrounded by other guests, and yes, is the slightest bit off putting, but he hadn’t wanted to make it obvious — which in hindsight was stupid; this scene was overused, dramatized. Half of proposals were made in a damn restaurant.

Of course, it got worse. Charles was a romantic, he liked to think, which is why he chose the most cliché way. A ring in a slice of chocolate tart, what Erik always chose. So he knows it’s ridiculously cheesy, and he’s embarrassed and already regretting it, when they’re seated and handed their menus, when he finishes his medium rare steak and orders his dessert. _Especially_ when Erik cocks up his plan.

Well, not on purpose. But still.

‘Wait—you’re not having chocolate tart?’

Erik eyes him as he hands the menu back to the waiter. ‘No, is that a problem?’

‘Of course not,’ he rushes out, almost dismissively, will say it _anyway_ to get the attention off the rising blush along his cheeks and neck. For Gods sake, don’t give it away. ‘It’s just, you always have it.’

He’s eyebrows are raised, and he’s looking at Charles unsurely and rightfully so. ‘I fancied a change. Should I have not done that?’ Just as Charles is about to answer, whilst screaming internally about what a disaster this is, Erik cuts over, ‘I wouldn’t say disaster, though maybe as far as odd. What’s wrong?’

‘What?’ Shit. ‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing is wrong.’

‘Charles.’ It’s nearly a reprimand, or a sigh, he can’t tell through the pounding of blood in his ears. ‘We both know when you get nervous, you project.’

This was completely fucking up, and the worse thing was he’d kind of expected it. Maybe that Erik wouldn’t have seen the ring, or he stumbled over his words, but this was going downhill and fast. He’d need to fix this by going into the kitchen and rearranging the plan — another problem, since Raven works here as a waitress and will mock him until the grave — but there’s no other choice.

Sweat has slicked his skin, along with the red flush, and he not so subtly scratches the back of his neck. With Erik’s questioning stare, waiting for an answer or some form of reply, doesn’t make the situation any less tense. It feels as if he can’t breathe now, _wonderful_ , and he’s usually the calm one, who helps people calm their mind in difficult circumstances, advice he can’t take on himself. Usually those times don’t involve asking the love of his life to marry him. More so that he’d taken months to plan this scene before him, with the beautiful atmosphere and had imagined the moment Erik saw the ring, not this.

He stands, jolting the table, but hastily steadies it. ‘I’ll be right back. I just need to…’

‘You do that,’ Erik says, a smirk on his face, watching him go.

Almost falling through the door that leads to the more public area of the restaurant, Raven greets him with an excited grin on her face, holding a bucket of champagne. ‘So? Did he say —’

‘He picked the wrong dessert.’

Raven’s smile falters. ‘What?’

‘Erik, he, doesn’t have the right dessert. Where is it? The tart?’

Understanding, thankfully, she flicks through her notepad of all the previous orders. She smiles. ‘It’s alright, Chalres, jeez. Stop panicking. It hasn’t gone to a table yet —’

‘Good, that’s good —’

‘But it’s still on the dessert trolley.’ She nods her head behind him. ‘Which is about to go to table twelve.’

‘Fuck.’

Charles whips round, and indeed, he spots the tart being pushed away by some waiter, through the room to where Erik is sitting, but not their table. He sees Erik’s eyes wander over to it, hands stippled together, so patient that it hurts, and tightness in Charles’ chest that sets his breathing uneven again.

He has to do the unthinkable, suffer the stupidity of it and just do it. Nothing can go any more wrong than it already is. He _can_ do it, for the man that’s sat ahead of him, all blue-eyed and hair slicked back and sharp features, the amazing man he’d fell in love with years before. He’d do anything for that man, and if that means he has do what he’s about to do, then so be it.

Dashing to the trolley, he grabs onto it. The waiter looks up at him, an eyebrow raised. ‘Can I help you, sir?’

‘Yes, could I just, bloody hell —’ He doesn’t finish, forcing himself to do it before talking himself out of it. He sticks his hand in the chocolate tart. Straight in there. He hears the Sir! But ignores it, cutting him off with, ‘I know, I’m sorry, but I have to. It’s an emergency.’

As much as he digs around, sauce coating his fingers and disgusting bits of it getting stuck under his fingernails, he can’t find the ring. He _can’t_ find it. Shit, this can’t be happening. He’s past humiliation now, doesn’t care that the whole bloody restaurant is staring at him, as if he’s a madman. Maybe he is, completely crazy, that is. Didn’t have a ring, or this is a dream and he’s not screwing up the proposal he’d dreamed of for years, planned for months on end.

He sucks in a hard breath, his ribcage feeling as if it’s digging into his lungs. When he reaches up and shoves a hand through his hair, he slicks it up with chocolate, smearing some on his forehead. ‘Erik —’

The words fail in his mouth when he sees it.

It’s there—the ring, held between Erik’s fingers. He smirks. ‘I suppose this is what you’re looking for?’

‘How did you get that?’

Erik rolls his eyes. ‘It’s _metal_ , Charles.’

‘Yes, but,’ he tries, shaking his head. ‘How did you know about it?’

There’s silence in the room, still, but perhaps that’s just from the roar of blood in Charles’ ears and the way his heart thumps against his chest unbearably fast. He doesn’t care—as he dares a glance around the room—that literally everyone is gawking at him, at the dessert-covered hands and messed up hair and flushed face, because all he really sees is Erik, twirling the ring.

Erik subtly flicks his fingers, dragging Charles forward by his belt buckle, but it just appears like he’s stumbling forward, which he thinks that’s the real thing, his knees weak. He falls into his seat, and Erik acts as if nothings happened, and after a while, the audience reluctantly turns back to their meals.

He’s about to feel hurt until Erik nods, and Charles gets the message.

_You’ve been so stressed over it lately it’s a wonder how I didn’t hear you. As I said, Charles, you project. You’ve been doing a hell of a lot of it in the past few days._

Charles glares. _And you didn’t think you stop me just now?_

 _Why ever for?_ Erik smirks, spooning some vanilla cheesecake into his mouth. _Entertainment of the night._

_Well, thank you, Erik, for making this night clear. Now if you please—_

_Which is why I’m saying yes._

‘You are?’ He says out loud, by accident, and earns a few glares this time. Lowering his voice to a whisper, ‘Yes?’

Erik smiles, a brilliant grin, which yes, many people have referred to it as a shark’s, but Charles finds it amazing. His best feature, besides—well, something he can’t think about right now, but will see to later, if tonight takes the course he’s hoping it to. So far it is.

The ring is in Charles’ hand again, and Erik holds his own out, arching an eyebrow. ‘Well? Don’t you want to make this official?’

Mirroring Erik’s smile, he hurries to slide it onto his finger. As he does, everyone erupts into cheers, clapping and some whistles, but Charles doesn’t hear them really, too focused on dragging Erik forward and kissing him. It’s sweet and tastes like chocolate and red wine, with his sticky hands cradling Erik’s face, and it taking a little too heated turn of bites and his tongue running over the seam of Erik’s mouth. He breaks away.

‘Not exactly my best performance there,’ he breathes, heaving in dry gasps. ‘But I can do better.’

‘There’s no need.’ Erik pecks his lips again. ‘It was wonderful. Besides, there are other kinds of performances that could make this night even better, if you know what I’m saying.’

Charles smiles. ‘I definitely know what you’re saying.’

~

‘You know, when I said performance, I didn’t mean watching you get drunk.’

He leans over and sloppily kisses Erik, the stale beer lingering on his breath, but Erik doesn’t pull back, only welcomes it; no further though, as even though they’ve been together for years, not once has he taken advantage of Charles’ tipsy behaviour. For any activity.

‘But it’s quite spectacular, don’t you agree?’ Charles pouts, running his thumb over Erik’s glistened bottom lip. ‘Spectacularly drunk. I like that. _Spectacular_.’

Erik sighs. ‘Yes. Quite.’

Charles leans forward, lips red and pouting again, his eyes narrowing into slits. ‘I’ve never noticed before, but your left eye is darker than your right. A mutation, a groovy mutation—fascinating, really, where all humans have individual genetics, separate from each other; not one is the same.’

He laughs, a breathy, quiet sound. ‘You do know your attempt at the art of seduction isn’t needed when we’re engaged, Charles.’

‘Who said anything about seduction? Purely observation.’ Charles hums, licking his lips. ‘Are we actually engaged? Cause I think this is a dream, has to be. Why else would you be wearing the ring?’

Erik answers with a kiss, hard at first, enough to feel as if he’ll bruise in the morning, but then he slows it down, too slow that Charles whimpers at the gentle care; one hand fists Charles’ hair, the other stroking down his reddened cheek, flushed from the contrast of warm alcohol in his system and the chilly air, nearly frozen against his palms. Erik pulls back, pressing his thumb against Charles’ lips before he protests.

‘Let’s get you home,’ he murmurs, wrapping an arm around Charles’ waist. ‘You’ll catch a death if you don’t.’

‘You could always warm me up.’ He’s about to reach down and cup the front of Erik’s trousers, which he knows hold a hardening erection, but a hand circles his wrist. ‘What? Don’t you want to? You’re missing out.’

Erik smirks. ‘It’s not that, darling —’

‘I thought you always had a thing for publicity —’

‘Rightly so,’ Erik says, kissing him silent. ‘But, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather make love to my fiancée, my husband to be in a bed. Our bed.’

He welcomes the kiss. ‘Seconded.’

~

Hard love bites are sucked into Charles’ neck, a moan he tries to hold back by his teeth slipping past anyway, more tearing up his throat as he arches into the touch.

‘ _Erik_ —‘ He’s forced to cut off as another thrust, rough and jolting up the bed, quietens him. It hits the right spot, just right, that it sends a spark of arousal up his back, across his skin like little electric webs, and his legs tighten around his lover’s waist, another moan so loud that it makes his chest tighten with the effort to swallow it. ‘Fuck.’

‘Now, now,’ he says above him, hands tightening on Charles’ hips. ‘Don’t hold back.’

He knows just how to play Charles, like a bloody harp. It’s a beginning of light, teasing touches, along his face, down his body but of course he doesn’t go where Charles most wants it. He’ll peel off their clothes, taking what feels like hours, months or years, and even when they’re both undressed, he’ll continue with the barely-there touches and kisses. Erik will take him apart with his hands or mouth at least once before fucking him, and only when Charles had sobered up, not much of a challenge when you can use your powers for it.

Even now, though, as he slowly rolls his hips, it’s torture. Too precise, too accurate, just like Erik always does—or what Charles does to Erik, so he can’t really complain—but it’s not enough. He needs more, when he’s so close to the edge, he needs to be pushed over it.

Grabbing Erik by the back of the neck, he hauls him, sealing their mouths together. He doesn’t hold back this time, biting down on Erik’s bottom lip, nipping his jaw and feeling every strand of hair between his fingers.

‘You want more?’

‘Yes—please, just, if you don’t mind.’

Erik smiles. ‘Well, as you’re being so polite about it. What’s happened to that dirty mouth of yours?’

‘Not very appropriate considering the occasion —’

‘I’m not opposed —’

Charles sighs, attempts a glare. ‘ _I_ am.’

Kissing him again, Erik murmurs, ‘Look at us: we’ve been engaged for six hours, but it’s as we’ve been married for sixty years.’

He thrusts harder, faster, before Charles can form a reply. It doesn’t take long for his insides to turn to mush, the sweat to trickle down into his hairline, the beat of his heart so strong it feels as if it hammers against his skull. He’s ripped apart at the seams, and it only takes a few seconds more for Erik to follow, with two more, concentrated drives of his hips, his there in the blinding of white light.

As they catch their breaths, they slump back against the bed. Charles wipes at his brow, grabs a handful of tissues from the bedside table and cleans them both up, a faint smile ghosting over his lips.

‘Sixty years,’ Charles muses. ‘It comes off a bit strong, but I do like the sound of that.’

‘Really? Sounds a bit of a nightmare to —’

‘Hilarious. You should look into staring in a comedy with that excellent humour of yours.’

Erik laces their hands together, lifting it up to press a kiss to the back of Charles’ hand. ‘Only if you’re there to cheer me on.’

And as Charles looks at his fiancée, the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with—really, as much as it doesn’t seem likely nowadays—but he does. In the rumpled bed sheets and a fresh pot of tea between them like the elderly couple they already are, he thinks this is okay. This is what he’s wanted, and what he’s now got.

‘I plan on doing that for the rest of our lives.’


End file.
